


GUY.exe

by lameafpun



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22437964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lameafpun/pseuds/lameafpun
Summary: The DPD was not a very pretty building. You think (privately, in the back of your mind, because the dEtEcTivEs would probably take it as an admission of guilt) that whoever had rammed a cop car into the side of the building was doing a great job of redecorating. The break room needed a new set of aesthetics that wasn't "evil scientist lair afraid to feel their oats."(it's hard not to double-take because it's easy to mistake things in the middle of a drunken haze but . . . does the DPD have some sort of twink-bot?)
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human) & Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	GUY.exe

The DPD cells were surprisingly sleek and you would have complimented their designer if not for the blatant lack of privacy. It had made puking up everything you’d eaten the past day significantly more embarrassing. 

It wasn’t entirely your fault. The circumstances, that is. Okay, it was a little your fault but there was a lot you couldn’t be blamed for. The drinks that had led to this entire situation — that had been your friend’s fault. And could you be blamed that drinking happened to heighten your public speaking skills to a frightening degree? All the previous times you’d gotten sloshed it had been in the comfort of your own home. But apparently, drunk you was able to construct rousing, righteous speeches on the spot. Getting drunk also brought out all the passion hiding under your skin and the impatience that usually accompanied it. 

The door to your cell slid open, the gentle whoosh making you stir in the ridiculously uncomfortable cot. Immediately after opening your eyes, they slid shut. The unforgiving bright lights and generally white environment was not doing you any favors. 

“Get up. You’re being brought to questioning.” A gruff voice prompted you, a rough hand at your bicep accompanying it. Despite your efforts, you’re dragged out of the bed and shoved into an equally uncomfortably cold chair before you can croak out a semi-coherent “What?” 

By the time your brain catches up, you’re already sitting on the opposite side of a one sided glass, hands cuffed to the table. The cold of this new, dark room barely has time to settle before the door is opening again and a man who looks to be in his mid fifties sits down on the other side of the table. He looks every inch the “grizzled cop who’s close to losing faith in the world,” from the unkempt gray hair to his worn clothes. You can’t help the slow smile that probably has him questioning your mental fortitude. 

He dismisses your smile with a disdainful glance and opens the folder that had appeared on the table. 

“So.” He starts, reading your name off the file with the same air of one commenting on a type of fungus. “You drove a hot-wired car into the side of the DPD.”

You blink slowly, his words fading into the background as his voice became the center of focus. There was an edge to it, albeit a tired one, and it delighted you on some level that this was a “bad cop” routine. 

Your wits were about as sharp as butter right now. The hangover really wasn’t doing you any favors. 

“Yep.” Wait. “Does . . . does that require an investigation?” 

He heaves a sigh, running a hand over his face. 

“Your . . . coworker - “

“Oh, Tannis!” 

He snorts. “Tannis?” 

You nod, having expected the reaction. “Yeah, we worked together in Peet’s, though I guess you knew that. Nice guy. What about him? He break the law or something?” 

The detective flips the file closed and levels a look at you. Bullets of sweat start to slide down the back of your neck — what the hell, you weren’t guilty of anything! (Oh shit, Tannis, what had he gotten you wrapped up in?)

“It was a deviant TA400 unit that killed Tom Stevenson, its former owner.” He scanned your face, noting the way your gaze became unfocused and the faint discomfort that leaked through. 

Tannis? (Had he called Tannis an it?)

The cloud lifts from your face, a shine of clarity coming to replace it and the grizzled detective leans over slightly. 

“I - URK!” 

He jerks back, barely managing to snag the file before you spew a mixture of bile and alcohol all over the interrogation table. 

“Oh, Jesus, that’s disgusting!” 

Your hands were warm and sticky, and your throat burned. Rancid alcohol mixed with the smell of bile filled your nose. Tears had gathered in your eyes, and a few slipped out as hunger pangs and nausea gnawed at your stomach. All in all, you felt pretty pathetic. 

A wretched groan escapes you, petering out as the door to the interrogation room opened again, and in stepped what you supposed was the “good cop” to the detective’s “bad cop.” 

_Oh no, he’s hot._

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my notes for an actual year so time to put it out i guess. idk might come back to it -- also, this was inspired by the same song by superfruit 
> 
> also haha feeling unstable might update later who knows


End file.
